⚠️ TW - Personal thoughts on life. Sensitive content.
When I was a little girl, I used to read Enid Blyton’s books one after the other, like they would never reach an ending. The Secret Seven, The Famous Five - adventures and fun one story after another. Until eventually they stopped because I got as far as I could and that meant the end. I remember feeling like I had an empty space because, what now?
I feel a lot like I’ve put down the last book on my life tonight.
I often think about the sea. The depths and the darkness. It’s not something I’ve ever really spoken out loud before now but I think about it an awful lot. I even dream about the dark grey waves becoming so angry I can’t get off the beach before they drag me under…
This is where I am now. Drowning quietly.
Today something happened. Many things happen to us in life and we take a breath, rationalise the situation and handle it. Today’s something broke me. It broke every sense of my being. The ‘thing’ itself in question was futile. It was never about the ‘thing’ or the problem in itself. It was everything it represented. Everything I realised in one moment that made me want to fall on the kitchen floor and write ‘The End’
The moon is bright tonight. It’s so close to my bedroom window in my little cottage I’m sure I could reach out and close my hand around it. Tuck it into my pocket maybe.
I’ve been here a few times, staring at the ocean and trying to comprehend the depths it holds. I can’t really if I’m honest. To tell you it terrifies me is the calmest way of describing the fear. Right now, I can taste the salty sting as it starts to claim my breath for its bed. Surrounded by miles of bone chilling grey waters with no idea what’s going to eventually drag me under but knowing, knowing, that it’s coming because when nobody see’s you - they can’t save you.
I used to believe the moon was magic, not so long ago. That there were things far bigger than me. Unexplainable things. That everything I secretly hoped for would become. I stopped a few years ago. Believing, I mean.
I’m alone.
In the past two years living alone, I’ve noticed what that word really means to me, in a way I’ve never viewed it before. Same meaning but different. See, I’ve never been alone in the sense of being alone. I like being alone. Reading, resting, walking and time to be. I’ve never related aloneness to being such a sad adjective. Except, today I did.
This version of alone pushed my head beneath the surface of the water and told me she’d been watching me for nearly two years. Kept me there and told me maybe it’s time I should see it for what it is and write the words here. It’s been the longest time you’ve been forgotten about after all. My tears didn’t soothe me; the twisting ache in my chest wishing for something and nothing. I don’t belong; the strange feeling seemed to settle on this and be quite sure it was the right conclusion.
I don’t belong in anybody’s life like I once did.
It wasn't that nobody cared as such; it was more of the realisation I didn’t fit into their world enough to be taken care of.
I wondered if, today, I should stop writing the stories.
The world only wants my money anyway.
Michelle Bella x
You're never "alone" when people are thinking of you! ♥️
Some of this is so very relatable and, at the same time, so very sad.
I feel helpless, when all i want to do is wrap my arms around you so that you don't feel like this. Not in a sexual way!! In a comforting, protective way. People like me are like that.
So, the offer is always there. As a person who has become so comfortable with "alone", i never was people to fear it and turn it into loneliness 🫂
Thinking of you.
❤️🩹